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On Ashwood road, Xavier Rivers rests in his home.
Glistening red stripes painfully adorned his arm.
Tears flow down his face, and he is ashamed.
He doesn’t want to cry.
He shouldn’t be feeling this way.
So he wipes away his tears, and covers his wounded arm.
When he exits the washroom, a very convincing smile is once again pasted on his face.

A few doors down, Wren Smith’s screams are muffled by her father’s hand, which is clamped over her mouth.
His other hand roams Wren’s body; she tries to squirm away, but he’s too strong.
This isn’t the first time, and it surely won’t be the last.

Outside Wren’s window, Gavin Shields makes his way home, the street lamps harshly illuminating his dark skin.
A cop car is parked across the street, and its owner leans against it, his cold blue eyes briefly meeting Gavin’s warm ones.
In a few moments, Gavin would be pushed to the ground and kicked mercilessly.
He would return home late that night, beaten and bruised.

And in the morning, Ashwood Road would be silent.
The red slashes on Xavier’s arm would catch his boyfriend’s eye.
Wren’s sister would notice that she was unusually quiet, and Gavin’s mother would notice her son’s bruised skin.

And when the friends and family of these people would ask, “are you ok?” They would all receive the same lie:

“Yes.”

And so silence fell once more on Ashwood Road.